


Chapter 2: Kisses Of Fire On My Skin (He Hit Me, And It Felt Like A Kiss)

by LadyCrystalCastalia



Series: Plaything (The Freak On His Leash) [Sam/Dean] - COMPLETE [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cuddling and Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Porn, Post Season 4, Rating: NC17, Rimming, Schmoop, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Whipping, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, jealous!Dean, possessive!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCrystalCastalia/pseuds/LadyCrystalCastalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s the only one who gets to call him that, and when he stops, Sam feel like he’s withering inside. Lucifer has risen and Ruby has run away, but rogue angels and a legion of demons are still the least of his worries. He just wants his brother back; because there is nothing in the world like being Dean’s “Sammy”.<br/>A/N: An exploration of Dean’s feelings after Lucifer Rising, of Sam’s guilt and motives for going Ruby-side, and of the boys’ pain and enduring love for each other through their most trying time. Follow the erotically codependent Winchester brothers on their chaotic way back to each other as they try to work out their issues (that damn phone call too): dysfunctional couples’ therapy at its finest ;).</p><p>Chapter 1 : <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/376262">Dying In His Frozen Seas</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bag Of Treats

**CHAPTER 2: KISSES OF FIRE ON MY SKIN _(HE HIT ME, AND IT FELT LIKE A KISS)_**

_"He Hit Me (It Felt Like A Kiss)"_

Song title from song writers Gerry Goffin & Carole King

**PART I: BAG OF TREATS**

Something was different.

After weeks of tiptoeing around him, and melting into corners to get out of his way, Sam was suddenly everywhere; sliding close on the couch when he was trying to watch TV, crowding him when he tried to put some distance between them, staring all the time.

It was unnerving, and Dean quickly started feeling like a cornered animal, with no room to escape. He could always go out for air, but he refused to let Sam run him out of his own room on principle.

He limped back from the kitchenette, an ice pack pressed over his purple cheek bone and bumped into Sam once again. He waited for his brother to make way, but Sam just stood there, taking up as much space as he could, until Dean finally cracked.

“What are you, friggin’ stalking me now?” He was almost shaking, he was so sick of it. He felt uneasy, under siege. He used to feel so _at home_ around Sam... “Move,” he warned.

Sam didn’t. He even took one step forward, standing so close, Dean was forced to look up. He was hit by the pain he saw in his brother’s eyes, and when tears started rolling from the hazel pearls, the sweetness of a forgotten emotion started spreading through his chest, fluttering like the broken wings of a tired butterfly trying to soar to the sky again.

He squashed it back into the darkness, and hardened himself almost immediately. He used to be a fool for those eyes. No more. He wanted to remember the disdain clouding them, when Sam was kneeling over him with his hands around his throat, and right before he walked out of the trashed honeymoon suite. It would keep him from stepping over his pride, once again, to beg for scraps of a love he wasn’t sure he ever truly had. It was the reason he had stopped looking at Sam, after those eyes had turned pleading. He might not be Stanford-smart, but, unlike his brother, he was not that easy to manipulate.

“Move,” he growled.

More tears rolled down the baby smooth cheeks. “You’re going to have to move me yourself,” Sam replied.

“I don’t have time for this.”

Dean tried to brush past Sam on the left; Sam blocked the access to the living room. Incredulous, Dean tried again on the opposite side, only to collide into a tower of flesh and muscle. He moved backwards, chest heaving, struggling to hold on to the last few strands of his self-control. What did Sam think he was going to accomplish going Glenn Close on him?

“Move now, or so help me, God…”

_What? You’ll beat me into the ground, like I did you when I was hopped up on demon blood? Do it. At least it’ll give me something to work with. Anything’s better than sitting around, watching you slip away, because I can’t even make you mad enough that you’ll take a second to look at me._

Sam took a courageous step forward. He was treading on thin ice, and he would keep walking until it broke. He took two more steps, and it happened. Dean swung his fist, punching him once in the face.

Sam did nothing to protect himself. He simply stood up straight and placed himself in the exit path, like a human road block again. Dean’s shoulders slumped.

“What do you want from me?”

Sam remained speechless for a moment. At last. It was more attention than he had received in weeks, and it was almost too much to take. His improbable plan to coax his brother out of his passive-aggressive lethargy by getting on his last nerve, was working. Sure, Dean’s response didn’t exactly qualify as positive, but Sam knew that anger was so much closer to love than indifference would ever be.

He wiped the blood that was trickling from his mouth and replied, “I want you to look at me. I want you to talk to me.” Dean snorted but he continued, “I want you to tell me what you’re thinking. Yell. Say something. Anything! At least I’ll know you still give a damn!”

“You have some nerve, asking me to do anything, just so you can feel better.”

“This isn’t just about me.” He put a hand on Dean’s arm. “You think I don’t see how miserable you are?”

“Get your hands off me,” Dean hissed; an unmistakable hint of menace in his tone.

Sam opened his arms wide. “Do you want to take another swing? Do it, if it makes you feel better. ‘Cause you have to let it out, somehow, Dean. Or it’ll grow inside of you, and fester, and we’ll never have a chance to get back…”

“Who says I want to get back to anything? You think you’re just going to take a few slaps and we’re going to be _all_ good?”

“No, I don’t. I know it’s not going to be enough, but I’m ready to do whatever it will take.”

Sam finally moved out of the way. He went to open his bedside drawer, pulled out a draw string bag, and handed it to Dean.

Dean studied the navy blue bag suspiciously. He noted it was heavy, and his eyebrows shot up when he recognized the brand discreetly printed on a corner, a harmless looking dog paw he had only seen while surfing x-rated websites.

“Where did you get this?”

“Bought it this morning, a little shop not far from the mall.”

Dean pulled the strings open and quickly viewed the contents. “What’s all that for?” he asked, trying not to jump to outlandish conclusions.

“I’m sure you have some idea, Dean.”

 _Okay, so much for hoping there was a logical explanation._ “What is this?” Dean asked. “ _Fight Club_ in leather chaps? Have you lost your mind?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“This… this is crazy. I can’t-”

“Really? Tell me the thought of using all of this on me doesn’t tempt to you. Tell me you didn’t feel a little better, when you…” Sam waved his hand at his split lip.

“Why would you let me?”

“Because, I want _us_ back; and it’s never going to happen if we don’t find a way to get past this.” Sam looked down, dejected. “It hurts me when you act like I’m invisible, but I don’t think it’s helping you feel any better. You’re as angry today as you were three weeks ago, if not more. At least with this, you’ll feel free to punish me the way you really want to, until you’re satisfied I learned my lesson, and, maybe, we’ll be able to move on.”

Dean looked at his brother as if he had grown another head, but, somewhere inside, he was admitting to himself that Sam had a point. He was filled with resentment, way too pissed for the touchy feely couple’s therapy crap to work, and, even if he knew that his tendency to get belligerent when words failed him was one of his biggest flaws, he couldn’t deny that he always felt better when he was able to let some aggression out; but he didn’t want to let it out on Sam. Or did he? The idea would have repulsed him a year ago. The fact that it no longer did, showed they had almost reached the point of no return.

The last time he had spoken with Sam about their situation, he had told him that there was nothing Sam could do to repair their damaged relationship. He had obviously underestimated his little brother’s commitment and resourcefulness.

“How long?” Dean asked, barely believing he was actually considering it.

“As long as necessary.”

*

Sam turned the page of his book and looked at the tacky sun-shaped clock hanging on the wall. Already 10:33 pm, and still no sign of Dean. After their discussion, he had gone for a walk to give Dean some space to think. When he had come back, the room was empty, and he hadn’t heard from Dean since.

He replayed their confrontation in his head. He thought he had finally managed to get through to his brother, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. He had rocked the boat, forced Dean to make a decision, and now Dean could always decide that he wanted out, for good.

What if he had pushed too far? What he was suggesting was far removed from reasonable and appropriate behavior between siblings; but they weren’t like everybody else, and the tangled web of knots, blood, anger, and passion, that was their relationship, had broken the neat and too-tight boundaries of ‘normal’ years ago.

Beyond that, the reason he was willing to go to these extremes, was because he understood what Dean was really angry about. It wasn’t the powers, the dark blood he had been cursed with when he was a toddler, and certainly not his part in a scheme that had been cooking since Creation. It was _her_ , everything he had given to her that belonged to Dean: most of which, his loyalty and trust.

Sam knew a thing or two about the mechanics of revenge. If he truly wanted to even the scores and go back to the way things used to be, he had to find a way to give back, to his brother, everything Dean felt he had lost due to his little tryst with Lilith’s right hand woman.

He had allowed Ruby to jerk his strings like a marionette. It was only fair that Dean be afforded the same privilege. At least, this time, Sam would be a willing puppet. He would let Dean play with him, break him, and glue him back together as many times as he needed, until the satisfaction of retribution healed the space that was left ravaged by the betrayal. He would take everything his brother had to give, the bitter with the sweet, and hold his cries, while Dean scratched every stain left by the other off Sam’s skin, until he recognized the boy he had pretty much raised and cherished above all else.

“Please give us a chance to fix this,” Sam prayed aloud.

His phone rang and relief poured over him when he saw the name on the caller ID.

“Dean, where are you? I’ve been worried sick.”

The voice that cut him off was cold. The tone, demanding.

“Let me tell you how this is going to work. You don’t discuss orders. You don’t get to make decisions. You do whatever is asked of you. From the moment I say “start”, it doesn’t stop until I say “over”. There’s no turning back, no safe word, and no breaks.  Do I make myself clear?”

Sam’s heart thumped in his chest. He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I will tell you how to speak, when to speak, how to behave. I won’t tolerate disobedience, and you will be disciplined every time you break the rules. This is not open for debate. Take it, or leave it: Yes or no.”

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Dean hung up the phone and Sam stood still, struck by the enormity of what he had just agreed to. His heart was beating hard against his chest, racing with a mix of fear and excitement. The phone rang again.

“Start.”

Sam closed his eyes and drew in a stuttered breath. Life as he knew it had just ended and he had no idea for how long.

 

_Part II – The Master’s Pet_

 


	2. The Master’s Pet

**PART II: THE MASTER’S PET**

 

“What were you doing?”

“Um, reading,” Sam replied, even if he had been stuck on the same two pages for more than an hour.

“Stop it.”

“Okay.”

“First, you’re going to turn off all the lights.”

“…now?” Sam hesitated.

“Do it.”

“Yes.”

Sam complied, then he wondered what he was supposed to do. Was he allowed to speak? Feeling a bit intimidated knowing Dean was waiting at the end of the line, he cleared his throat.

“You done?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Now take off your clothes. Keep the underwear.”

“Uh…” Sam stammered.

“There a problem?”

“No!” Sam replied quickly.

“Then you lie on your bed, face down, and you wait for me. Understood?”

“Yes.”

Sam blew out a soft breath. His fingers trembled slightly as he unbuttoned his shirt, unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down. Minutes dragged slowly while he was left alone with himself, waiting his new master’s return. He quieted his anxiety by reminding himself that this was his idea; an idea that had taken root after he had discovered an unusual shop on his way back from the Sunny Creek Shopping Mall the day before.

The logo on the storefront had caught his eye. He had smiled, when he has seen the white paw, knowing that the only thing that could brighten his mood would be looking at pups on sale. Upon closer inspection through the window, he had quickly realized that _One Sick Puppy_ was not a pet store.

Curious and intrigued, he had gone back home, and while he was waiting for Dean, he had entered the name of the shop in a search engine and spent a riveting hour exploring an unknown world of punishment and pleasure, control and submission.

Dean had come home late as usual, staggering into their room after spending yet another night unleashing his pent-up rage on unsatisfying surrogates in a fog of liquor. In the morning, Sam had contemplated his brother, passed out, fully clothed, on his bed, looked at his bruised face and scratched fists, and decided that the only way to appease him was to give him permission to lash out at the one person he was really angry with.

More than that, he wanted to place, in his brother’s hands, the power to recapture what he had lost, on his terms. The concept might seem radical, but after the things Sam had done recently, the idea of offering himself, without conditions, to the one who had watched over him since he was a small child, didn’t seem like the worst idea he ever had.

Filled with a new determination, he had taken the car and driven himself to _One Sick Puppy_. There, a leather clad vixen with bright red lips had welcomed him with a wink and a cheeky, _“Master or slave?”_ He had opened his mouth like a fish and she had interrupted with the confidence of a connoisseur, _“First time? I have the perfect Beginner’s Kit for you”_. His cheeks had taken a tint rivaling her lipstick, and when he was back in the safety of the Impala with his shiny new toys, he had raced home like a bank robber in the getaway car.

A dozen hours later, he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had just given up control of his life. Sure, he could decide, at any moment, that this little experiment was over before it started, but he wouldn’t. He accepted that, from this point on, he no longer owned himself. There was something exhilarating about it. It was as terrifying as it was freeing. Risky, no doubt, but worth it, if it could help him achieve his goal.

His ears perked up when he heard the familiar sound of the ’67 Chevy rumbling into the lot. Then, there was the creaking sound of the car door being slammed shut, and shortly after, the door of their room was opened.

 

*

Before Dean had even stepped into the room, he knew Sam had passed the first test because no light was coming through their window. He turned on his bedside lamp and found his brother lying face down, unmoving, and awaiting directions.

He emptied the bag on the bed, at Sam’s feet. He had spent the last hour staring it, obsessing over it, going back and forth between imagining scenarios, and scolding himself for even entertaining the idea.

He shed his clothes, only keeping his jeans, and sat next to Sam. He picked the blindfold first, slipped it over Sam’s head, noticing how easily his brother was giving in. He had half expected Sam to be in full freak-out mode by now, listing all the reasons why they couldn’t possibly go through with this. He never truly believed that the ever-rebellious, ‘stop bossing me around’ Sam Winchester would willingly subject himself to this kind of control. Obedience had never been Sam’s strong suit, and Dean was surprised, and frankly, a little impressed with his brother’s commitment.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Feet on the floor.”

He took the gag, inserted the rubber ball in Sam’s mouth, and tied the strap behind his head. Then he put a cuff on each wrist and ankle, locked the collar around his brother’s neck, and attached the leash to the front ring.

“Up,” he said, pulling on the leash to lead a blind Sam away from the bed.

He tugged on the collar again when he wanted Sam to stop, placed him between the fixed panels separating the bedroom from the living room, and tied the cuffs to the ornate railing with ropes, spreading Sam into a perfect X.

The first lash startled Sam. It was gentle, but his body twitched at the unfamiliar stimulation. The strikes that followed were light, careful and unhurried, almost calming, as they streamed down his skin like water. He leaned into them and savored the sweetness, knowing it wouldn’t last.

The strength of the blows increased, little by little, and he could feel the pinch every time the flogger landed on his back; nothing too painful, but hard enough to sting, the sensation sharp, like rubber snapping at his skin.

It stopped abruptly, and he was left hanging in the obscurity, with the sound of his labored breathing for company, shivering in the nerve-racking and seemingly neverending wait for the next blow.

The leather slashed through the air and slapped against his skin, and Dean began delivering a series of blows at a regular and steady pace. Muffled cries rose from Sam’s throat, as the flogger’s tails cascaded down his upper arms, shoulders, and back; but just as he was getting used to the cadence, the master broke the tempo, snapping the whip off-rhythm and alternating the strength and speed of the blows in an unpredictable pattern of harsh and soft that kept Sam dangling over a cliff with nothing to hold on to.

Sam’s muscles tensed and his ears strained for the smallest sounds as he tried to anticipate what his master’s next move would be, but it was impossible to keep up; useless, and draining. Defeated, he lowered his face between his outstretched arms and let himself fall, letting go of the last vestiges of self-preservation, and trusting his master would be there to catch him.

Sensing his brother’s surrender, Dean stepped back to give him a well-deserved break. He admired his handy work, following the crisscross pattern of bruises covering Sam’s back with his eyes, fascinated by the physical evidence of his complete domination over him. He trailed the flogger’s strands lazily over the marked skin. His little slave-in-training had turned a corner; it was time for a little treat.

Sam shuddered when he felt the leather touch his skin again. This time, it was gliding over his back ―ever so slowly― brushing and sweeping, like a caress. His head lolled to the side, heavy. The feeling was sensual, unlike anything he had felt before. He swallowed a moan and arched his back as the strips tickled the small of his back and traveled up his spine, sliding over one shoulder, ruffling the hair curling at his neck, and stroking the other shoulder. His head rolled back and his hips traced a little circle. If he wasn’t wearing a gag, he would have licked his lips. He inhaled deeply when he felt a warm breath next to his ear, and that voice, of gravel and whiskey mixed with sex and honey, murmured in a tone that made his cock jump, “I guess it doesn’t hurt enough, huh, bitch. Don’t worry, I’m just getting warmed up.”

Dean swung the whip over his shoulder and cracked it down his own back to see how far he could go without making the pain unbearable. Gripping the handle tight, he started to administer a severe lashing, striking the naked flesh hard, again, and again, each blow more forceful than the last.

This time, it did hurt. Sam writhed under the unrelenting blows. His hands balled into fists and his toes sank in the carpet as the hot leather set his skin aflame, and the tip of the thin strands dug into his back. It hurt, but somehow, it still felt good, dizzying, and he bit around the rubber ball, moaning in pleasure and pain, as the sensations warring in his body pulled him in opposite directions.

Unable to stop himself, he felt his cock harden as he listened to the words spoken while the blows kept coming.

“You have been a very bad boy, Sam. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”

Tongues of fire glided over his skin, and Dean swung the whip harder. 

“I wish I didn’t have to punish you…but it’s the only way you’ll learn.”

Sam started shaking under the biting strikes. His body was one giant nerve and he felt like burning lava was running in his veins. He surrendered completely to the unexpected pleasure of being bound, disciplined, utterly defenseless, and stripped to his soul.

Dean grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair and pulled his head back. He studied his brother’s face closely to judge the intensity of the sensations he was triggering inside of him. He could tell by Sam’s heightened, yet eager response, that he had found the right balance between caution and cruelty, and after maintaining the same punishing beat for a while, he decided to soften his strikes. It was the first time, after all, and Sam had played his part rather well. He snapped the flogger gently over the flushed skin and let go of Sam’s locks.

“You’re gonna have to prove to me you deserve my trust,” he commanded. “Until then, you’re my property. You’ll eat when I tell you to. You’ll sleep when I tell you to. When I sit you down somewhere, you don’t get up, when I lock you in the room, you don’t get out. If you speak to anyone without my consent, I will punish you.” His voice rose. “If you so much as look at anyone, Sam, I swear, you’ll regret it.”

Sam grunted helplessly. The blend of sensations raging in his body was overpowering, and Dean’s possessive words, pouring in his ears like the sweetest nectar, spiced with his authoritative tone he usually hated, but now seemed to turn his knees into Jell-o. He was literally burning on his feet, stretched to the breaking point, his senses assaulted, and his cock throbbing between his legs as tears soaked his blindfold.

He could feel it in every lash. All of it. The resentment, the disappointment, and the pain; but also the love and care he had come so close to losing forever because he had taken them for granted. As the relief and a renewed hope filled his heart, he felt a powerful release wash over him. It felt like expiation, unconditional devotion, and the certainty that he would stop at nothing until he saw his brother smile again. If he could speak, he would have risked more punishment by screaming _I love you, Dean_ at the top of his lungs.

Dean threw the whip off to the side, breathing hotly. It was intoxicating, having so much power over another human being, knowing there would be no one to stop him if he went too far or didn’t use that power wisely. He traced the abused skin with the pad of his fingers, making Sam whimper softly.

An unexpected tenderness took hold of him; the feeling that he owned Sam and was responsible for every emotion he felt. He could make him cry, make him bleed, writhe in delight, or beg for mercy. Before everything had gone south, he had always felt Sam was his, his brother, his partner, his responsibility, everything, but even then, he never had the feeling that he owned him, not like he did now.

Sam had faith that he was in safe in his hands. He trusted his lifelong protector to let go of his frustrations without damaging him beyond repair. After his brother had doubted him, to the point of siding with a demon over him, such blind trust was like a healing salve on Dean’s wounds.

He moved his hands up the broad back, caressing the red welts forming on the flogged skin.

“You’re mine to do with what I please,” he observed, as much for himself as he did for Sam. 

Sam nodded and leaned, boneless against his master’s chest.

“Mmh… what should I do with you, then? Should I leave you here all night? Make you spend the night on the cold bathroom floor…?”

Sam let out a pleading sound. Dean’s laughter resonated close to his ear, rich and low, and it did something to Sam’s insides.

“Of course, you have no say in the matter.”

Dean’s hands slid back down, settling at the waistband of Sam’s boxer briefs. Sam’s breathing shortened. He could have wept, he was so hard.

“But I suppose you did alright.”

The hands slid around Sam’s waist, causing Sam’s dick to fill out some more, if that was possible.

“I didn’t expect it would be so easy to tame you. I guess, it’s true what they say about hardheads. With a little training, you’ll make the perfect little slave boy.” He followed the line of Sam’s jaw with one finger. “I suppose I can let you sleep in your bed tonight.”

He pulled away, leaving Sam shaking with need.

“And when I take the gag off, you’ll say, _thank you, Master_.”

He proceeded to unbind Sam, starting with the ankle cuffs and the blindfold. He then took the gag off and waited for Sam to say his thanks before uncuffing his wrists and taking off the leash.

“You have five minutes to use the bathroom, then, you go straight to bed. You can close the door. Don’t lock it.”

“Yes, Master.”

*

 

Breathing hard, Sam looked at himself in the mirror. He had a hard time recognizing the lust-blown eyes that reflected back to him.

He turned around and twisted his neck to look at his back. Toward the end, he had felt, for a short while, that the flogger’s tails where slicing into his back, but there were no cuts and no blood, only red lines marking his skin all over. His eyelids fluttered close as he relived parts of the exciting ritual that had created them, and he pressed his hand between his legs, hissing softly at the sensation.

All the time, Dean had been behind him and never seen the effect their little session was having on him. Dean... He snapped back into reality. He only had five minutes ―make that four― to take care of his needs and make himself look presentable before going back into the room.

He threw cold water on his face, sprinkled some over his back, and quickly brushed his teeth, trying to concentrate on these mundane acts to forget the ache in his lower belly. He was still hard when he made it out, just under five minutes, but by then, Dean was too busy undressing to check up on him.

After being the focus of such intense attention, Sam felt a little abandoned, but knowing his place, he went to bed quietly. When his brother turned off the lights, his hand started sliding down to his cock. He swiftly pulled it back up. His master had not given him permission to relieve himself. Even if Dean couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t disobey. He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his arousal against the mattress, biting the inside of his mouth, and taking slow, deep breaths to cool down.

He raised his fingers to the collar. The moment he had heard the lock click around his neck, he had sensed the change within him. His transformation into his master’s pet had started. He had thought it was the sacrifice he was making to prove his love and loyalty. He had never expected it to feel this way; so right and so fulfilling.

In a matter of hours, he had gone from being ostracized to a jealously guarded possession. After struggling with the guilt and hopelessness, he no longer felt alone. They had a long road to travel, but they had taken the first, most important step, and they would figure out the rest together. Sam felt a sudden calm come over him, closed his eyes, and soon fell into a peaceful sleep.

*

 

The day after, Dean woke Sam in the morning. He gave him ten minutes to get ready and they went to the nearby diner to get some breakfast. Dean ordered both their meals while Sam sat quietly, never looking or talking to the waitress, as he was not allowed to.

Dean had never taken the collar off, making sure Sam wore the external sign of his master’s ownership at all times, as a symbol and reminder of his new status. Everywhere they went, Sam sensed that people were staring at his neck. At first, it made him feel vulnerable, exposed, and somewhat ashamed. He was also afraid that Dean would suddenly decide to throw him to the wolves, leaving him alone in a crowed place, where he would become the object of curiosity, sticking out like a sore thumb, unable to move from the spot he was left in, or to ask people to leave him alone.

But his brother never left his side. He guided his steps; a protective hand pressed against the small of his back, and shielded him from strange looks by menacingly staring down anyone who dared look at his property too long. Sam let himself be led, enjoying the constant caress of Dean’s palm on his skin, and quickly felt safe enough to realize he liked being bound to his master for the world to see.

At night, Dean had made him take his clothes off in front of him, piece by piece, and he had walked around Sam, inspecting him as if he was merchandise up for auction, while Sam stood there, blushing under the intense gaze, barely covered by the thin barrier of his boxers.

Dean had then tied Sam up to panels, gagged and blindfolded him, and swung his whip, setting Sam ablaze, playing his body like a finely tuned instrument, and putting him through a roller coaster of emotions before sending him to bed, aroused, trembling, and dying for relief.

_Part III – Fuck Toy_


	3. Fuck Toy

**PART III – FUCK TOY**

**Summary:** Dean discovers Sam likes it.

 

The whip whistled in the air and crashed heavily on the sensitive skin. It was day three of the sick little game they were playing. This time, Sam was bent over a table, holding himself up on his forearms, his wrists cuffed together in front of him, and his underwear in a ball at his feet as his master explored new territory.

Dean snapped the flogger down across Sam’s ass and the back of his thighs a couple of times, sending sharp jolts of pain shooting through his brother’s body. He gently dragged the tails across the marked skin, feeling something stir deep inside him at the way they clung to the firm curves.

A warm, tingling sensation spread to Sam’s backside. He closed his eyes and clutched the edge of the table to keep his balance.

Dean took a few swipes in the air and landed another round of stinging strikes on the full cheeks in quick succession, watching with growing satisfaction as his slave’s skin became tinged with red.

Sam’s felt the heat spread to his cock, and when his brother’s hands brushed against his over-stimulated flesh, he forgot the rules and opened his mouth to form coherent words.

“Oh God, Dean…”

Dean pulled slightly on the leash, tightening his hold around his slave’s neck. Today he had decided to take the gag off because he wanted to hear every whimper, cry, and hitch of breath that would fall from Sam’s mouth. The ‘no speaking rule’ was however, still in effect.

“You do remember you’re not allowed to speak unless I address you first.”

Sam nodded and bit his lips when a hit landed on his butt in warning. He wiggled his hips and let out a slow moan, unable to control himself.

“You’re not supposed to enjoy this,” Dean said. “Does it turn you on when I whip you?”

Sam did not answer, too busy cursing himself for forgetting the rules and setting himself up for whatever punishment would follow because of it.

“Answer me!”

“…No,” came the breathy whisper.

Dean yanked on Sam’s hair, propping him up, so he was forced to lean against Dean’s chest.

“You know you get ten hard lashes if you dare lie to me,” Dean threatened in his ear.

“I…”

Dean slid the whip under the turgid cock jutting between his brother’s legs, using it to lift and weigh the rock hard dick, making it bounce against Sam’s stomach.

“And what have we here? Do you jerk off after our little sessions, Sam?”

“No. I... I don’t have permission.”

“Good, you learn fast. So, what turns you on, huh? Is it the pain? Do you like feeling helpless?”

Sam nodded. It was that and so much more. It was everything; the intimacy, the way Dean could create pain, pleasure, chaos, and peace inside of him with a turn of his wrist, the way he whispered all those things into his ear, the way he couldn’t hide the fact that he still cared.

“Speak up, baby boy,” Dean said, slowly rocking Sam from side to side.

“Yes.” Sam’s voice was barely a breath.

“What else?”

“When…when you touch me.”

“Like this?” Dean’s hands slid over Sam’s stomach and the shy whimper that escaped from Sam’s throat was all the answer he needed.

“What else? Do you like it when I spank you? Of course you do, you little slut. I could do anything to you right now and you couldn’t stop me. You’d probably like it.”

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran through Sam at the thought.

“I really am much too lenient with you. If I whipped you hard enough, the way you deserve to be, it wouldn’t feel so good.”

Dean took off the blindfold, forcing Sam out of the safe darkness he was hiding in.

“What do you want, Sam?”

“You,” Sam said in an exhale.

“Speak louder.”

“I want you.”

“And what do you want me to do to you?”

Dean pushed Sam back down on the table. He let his hands slide down the expanse of Sam’s back until he was cupping the tight buttocks.

“Do you want me to touch you… here?” Dean slid a finger between the spread cheeks.

“Ahh…”

Dean pressed his chest down over Sam’s back and crooned in his ear, “It’s not really part of our arrangement. See, you’re supposed to please _me.”_ He pulled himself up and rubbed his crotch against Sam’s ass. “I might be persuaded. What do you offer in return? What are you going to do to earn it?”

“Anything you want.”

“I already have you on a leash, Sam. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“I could…” Sam flushed and closed his eyes, grateful Dean was behind him. “I could pleasure you, with my mouth.”

“Not so PC, baby boy.” Dean smirked. “And turn around and look at me while you say it.”

“…I could suck your cock.”

Dean looked down at his brother. Sam was simply delicious like this, bent over that table, spread open for him, his face fiery red as he tried to hold Dean’s gaze, looking like a sweet lamb ready for sacrifice. His cock filled with blood as he imagined those soft pink lips stretched around him.

“I could have you do that anyway…” His voice was low with desire.

He ran his fingers through the back of Sam’s head and stroked his hair, applying enough pressure that Sam couldn’t look away if he tried.

“…but I always had a weakness for you, so I’ll do it.”

He let go of Sam's hair and ordered, “On your knees.”

He pulled on the leash, making Sam crawl to him while he walked backwards until he was pressed against the wall. He untied his brother’s wrists, tied them again behind Sam’s back so Sam wouldn’t be able to touch him with his hands, and he unbuttoned his jeans.

Sam waited, devouring his brother with his eyes, while he pulled his boxers down. For years, he had pushed those fantasies away, labeling them as wrong and sick, but now that he was handcuffed, collared, and with no other purpose than to serve Dean, he felt free to give into them without guilt.

His brother’s pulsing length brushed along his right cheek and he rubbed against it, feeling the silky heat move against his skin, filling his nostrils with the intoxicating scent. He extended his tongue and tried to lick the head. Dean teased him by moving it out of reach several times, making him work for it. He finally managed to close his lips around it and started sucking on it slowly, his tongue gliding on the underside as he looked up at Dean.

He placed a couple of wet kisses on the tip and swallowed Dean’s cock again, this time pushing past the corona to twirl his lips around the shaft. He slid his mouth back and forth until he managed to lodge the tip of the cock in his throat, pulled back, and let out a small cough. Dean caressed his hair, infinitely turned on by the sight of his teary eyes and spit-shiny lips.

“Easy, baby boy.”

Sam took a few breaths and started again, his wet lips gliding effortlessly around the shaft, back and forth, and swallowing Dean as deep as he could without choking himself. After a while, he pulled away and flicked his tongue up and down the slit to get his master’s attention.

When hazy green eyes finally focused on him, he stuck his tongue out, inviting Dean in, and giving him full control. Dean curled a hand around Sam’s head. He pushed his cock in and pulled Sam’s head backwards, watching the tip almost slip out of his brother’s mouth before pushing Sam down on him again.

“Fuck, Sam.”

He moved his hips, sliding his cock over Sam’s tongue as he pushed it in and out of his brother’s wet cavity. He started slow, and gradually increased the speed, pumping in and out of Sam’s mouth and watching his brother slurp around him noisily until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

With a groan, he pushed himself back and leaned against the wall, taking a moment to catch his breath. He looked down at his brother, who was sitting back on his heels patiently waiting for the verdict, and panted, “You did so good. Better be the first time, too.”

Sam nodded with a little smile, happy to please and got on his feet when Dean pulled on the leash again. Dean grabbed his bottle of lube, threw a pillow over the table, and pushed Sam down on it. He slicked his hand and inserted the tip of one finger inside Sam, plunging deeper when Sam started rocking his hips back. He moved in small circles, exploring the silky heat, and opening his brother up until he was able to slip a second finger, then a third. He spread them slightly to further push the tight walls apart, withdrew his hand, and pressed his swollen knob against the puckered entrance.

Sam’s body shook with anticipation. He felt Dean push against the rim of his hole, careful and gentle, as he made his way into the narrow tunnel, and squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp when his cock bottomed out inside him, his inner muscles instinctively contracting around the thick member.

Feeling the tension in his brother’s body, Dean took a moment to massage the base of his spine, and then he slid his hands down the firm globes and spread them apart with his thumbs.

“Let go, babe,” he asked softly.

Sam’s face burned when he felt a finger brush the outline of his painfully stretched hole and he complied. Dean waited for the newly deflowered ring to loosen around him and he started moving inside the snug walls in gentle, slow strokes. His cock slid wetly, in and out of Sam’s ass, and his eyes travelled up to the bound hands that symbolized his brother’s submission.

He felt a primitive urge to brand every inch of Sam’s body and soul until he had ruined him for anyone else. Driven by desire, as much as possessiveness, he gripped his brother’s shoulders and rammed into him, so hard Sam yelped, his body jerking under the assault.

Sam’s fingers curled behind his back and he sank deeper into the pillow. His brother was moving so deep inside of him, he could almost feel him in his throat. He had imagined this day in secret, countless times, never really believing it would come, and his wildest dreams paled in comparison to a reality only made more intense by his complete and utter helplessness. He gave himself without reserve and let his brother use his body as he pleased, soft moans of pleasure escaping his open mouth with every thrust.

Dean moved a hand down Sam’s spine. He grazed his fingernails between his brother’s shoulder blades and slammed into the warm sheath. “You feel so good, Sam,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

He grabbed a handful of dark hair, forcing Sam to arch his back, and took him for a rough ride. He built up the speed of his thrusts and all Sam could do was grit his teeth to keep the shameless words and desperate pleas that rose to the tip of his tongue down. He couldn’t get enough, but he dared not say it out loud for fear that Dean would stop as punishment.

The sound of their flesh slapping together at a maddening pace filled the air as Dean pounded into him as fast and deep as he could until he could no longer hold back.

“Want me to fill you up, baby?” he asked. “Beg for it.”

“Please, come inside me,” Sam moaned, shoving his ass back against his brother’s stiff cock. 

It was all Dean needed, and he threw his head back with a grunt, coming in long, wrenching spurts while Sam pulsed around him. Feeling a little wobbly once it was over, Dean put one hand on the table to steady himself and gently pulled himself out.

“Well, baby brother,” he panted, palming Sam’s ass. “If I’d known it was going to be like this, I would have done it sooner.”

He stroked Sam’s inner thighs with sadistic slowness, overlooking the swollen member that was throbbing between them. Sam rubbed against him with a pleading moan, but just as the master could be kind, he knew how to be cruel.

“Never said I’d make you come, Sam. You are here to serve me, not the opposite, remember?”

Sam bit his lips so hard he tasted blood. His balls were aching, and the skin around his dick too tight. He feared that he might actually explode after two days of unreleased arousal and the best fuck of his life if his master didn’t show mercy.

Dean had other ideas. He uncuffed his brother, pulled him by the leash, and made him sit in his designated spot between the metal dividers. He tied Sam’s ankles to the panels, leaving him spread out with his legs up, then he grabbed his clothes, and went into the bathroom.

Sam was close to tears. He knew it was another test. His hands were freed, but he still didn’t have the authorization to use them. For the first time since their little experiment had started, he seriously struggled with the temptation to break the rules. He didn’t want to disobey, but he felt like he was going to lose his mind.

“ _Come on, Sam, you can do this.”_

There was too much riding on it; and it was _his_ idea, his plan, to show Dean he loved him enough to put himself through it, all of it, and he wouldn’t fail, not this time. He stared at the water stained ceiling and tried to block out the sensations that made the whole thing even more challenging; but he could still feel Dean’s heat on his skin, burning him everywhere he touched, his hardness inside of him…

He listened to the sounds coming from the other room: Dean having a brief conversation on the phone; Dean taking a shower; Dean humming while he took his shower. He wondered how long his brother was going to leave him there and counted the minutes to pass the time. _  
_

_Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…_ Nine minutes and twelve seconds after he had started counting, the door opened.

Dean walked toward Sam, his gaze fixed on the body stretched out before him as he sat on the bed. Sam squirmed under the careful and silent examination, thought of covering himself, but kept his hands clenched into fists against his chest.

Dean’s eyes lingered over the shiny cockhead dripping a steady stream of precome down Sam’s shaft. He finally spoke. “Did you touch yourself?”

Tears slithered down Sam’s temples. “No.”

Dean couldn’t help the feeling of satisfaction that came over him. He knew his brother was in pain, and what was a little ‘tug n’ stroke’ behind the master’s back? But Sam had resisted, for him. All he needed was to look into his eyes and know he was telling the truth, and it surprised him to see how much it mattered.

He got up and kneeled between Sam’s legs.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked, knowing why, but still wanting to hear it.

“You never told me I could.”

 _Good answer._ “Slide your hand down,” he said. “Slowly. Wrap it around your cock.” He watched Sam do as he asked and heard him moan when his fingers finally reached the heavy, aching length.

“How does that feel?”

Sam’s voice was but a quiver. “Good.”

“Move your hand, up and down, slowly.”

Sam’s moans got louder.

“Look at me.”

The hazel eyes opened.

Dean watched his brother jerk off. He guided his movements, telling him how slow or fast he could go, took him to the precipice of orgasm, and then ordered him to stop, leaving Sam pleading, and desperate.

“Please…” Sam sobbed.

He was spread open, achingly stiff, leaking like a faucet, and forced to beg for relief, but he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to come.

Dean ran his hands under the long curve of the sculpted calves, all the way down to the inside of his brother’s thighs. He had never seen Sam look so vulnerable, so beautiful.

“My little slave…”

No one had ever made him come as hard as Sam had, and he was going to return the favor. He leaned over and asked, “Tell me who you belong to, Sam?”

Sam looked up at the handsome face leaning over him. Dean’s hair was still damp, and his skin smelled like clean soap, big brother, and safety. He closed his eyes and wondered if anyone had ever died from orgasm denial, or from being so stupidly, recklessly in love that their heart just stopped at the sight of the one they loved.

“You. Only you,” he managed to answer.

“Now, baby. Come for me.”

Sam’s fist flew over his cock. Fire shot through him and his hips surged forward, limbs tensing like bows, as he was catapulted into a crashing orgasm. He cried out and ejaculated all over himself, thick gobs of come splashing over his abdomen, chest and chin.

Dean watched his baby brother crumble to the floor, shivering. Sam looked close to passing out, but his body was still twitching. His hips bucked through the last spasms and Dean’s come started dribbling out his of well fucked hole. He leaned down, swiped his tongue over the glass-hard nipples, feeling Sam quake under his touch, then he placed gentle kisses on the stressed little buds and started untying his brother.

Sam slowly came back to life as the throbbing lessened and convulsions waned. He struggled to pull himself up and whimpered when he failed.

“Shh. It’s okay, come here.” Dean gathered him in his arms, effortlessly picked him off the floor, and carried him to the bed.

Sam clung to his shoulders and kissed his neck, refusing to let go when Dean tried to put him to bed.

“Get some rest, okay?” he said.

Sam nodded obediently. “Thank you, Master.”

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Dean went to pay for the stir-fried veggies and spring rolls he had ordered while he was in the bathroom.

“Be back before nighttime,” he said to a drowsy Sam. “You know the rules.”

Sam lifted himself on his elbow and nodded. He was free to do what he wanted, except talk with anyone who wasn’t Bobby or Cas, and he could not leave the room. He watched his brother walk out the door and let himself fall back on the bed with a low, sensuous moan. The second rule was not going to be an issue. He was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a while.

 

**_Chapter 3: Mixed Feelings_ **


End file.
